Not everyone did parties, of course. Many of the girls did Israel trips for their bas mitzvah, which wasn’t amazing in terms of missing days of school, but at least it felt like a fitting way to celebrate a bas mitzvah.

Unlike the ice skating event.

I don’t even remember how I found out about that one — it was kind of like something that everyone just knew. It was Sheva Paluch’s bas mitzvah, the Paluch family, the one who had donated the school building and the local shul and who knew what else. Of course Sheva would be flying to Israel for her bas mitzvah. But that wasn’t all, oh no, no.

Apparently, the Paluchs rented out a local ice skating rink one Sunday. This wasn’t super new news; it wasn’t the first time they’d rented out the rink and allowed their children to invite friends over. But this time, in honor of Sheva’s bas mitzvah, the entire rink had been decorated in rose gold and peach, huge mazel tov banners draped where ads would be, and some kind of ice dancing troupe had been hired for entertainment. The entire class was invited, there were refreshments off the ice, and every girl left with personalized swag, a Stanley, a sweatshirt, and who knows what else.

This wasn’t a Shalosh Seudos segueing into some kind of Motzaei Shabbos at-home party. This was an all-out flagrant breaking of the rules, and we had to do something about it.

But at the same time, this was Ezzy Paluch’s daughter.

“We’ll ask Mrs. Paluch to come in for a meeting,” Mrs. Bloch said briskly when we discussed it.

Sheva’s mother was very busy, but she agreed to step into school one afternoon for a few minutes. I called Sheva in as well, and Mrs. Bloch wished them mazel tov on the bas mitzvah, and then carefully broached the subject of the party.

“The ice rink?” Shari Paluch’s eyelashes fluttered. “Oh, that wasn’t a party… we were going to do it anyway. My husband often rents out the rink for the girls and their friends.  So we figured, instead of a party, we’ll just celebrate while we’re there.”

Of course.

Mrs. Bloch looked at me. We were both thinking the same thing; this was exactly the kind of party we’d been trying to ban, and there wasn’t much we could do about Sheva’s party, especially now that it had happened.

“I really wanted a real party, with a theme and a hall and everything,” Sheva piped up virtuously. “But I knew the school wouldn’t allow it so when we were renting the rink anyway, and it was the day of my birthday, we made it to celebrate.”

“I understand that you didn’t think this was exactly what the school doesn’t allow, but there’s something called the spirit of the law,” Mrs. Bloch said. “Maybe you could say that this was a regular ice skating party with friends. But there’s a very fine line between ice skating party dressed up… and bas mitzvah party in another guise. And when we make the rules about not inviting friends to bas mitzvah parties, it’s specifically to avoid setting a standard, creating pressures, making things ‘next level’… which is why it was disappointing to hear about the ice skating party.”

Sheva looked contrite. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Her mother made a small gesture, as if to say, this was what you called me in about?

Mrs. Bloch looked at me; I had nothing to say.

“Is the meeting over now?” Mrs. Paluch asked, looking from the principal to me and back again.

What else was there to say?

“Yes, I suppose it is,” I said. “But for the future, we’re going to clarify the rules again, explaining to the parents and the whole class. Just in case anyone else wasn’t 100 percent clear.”

“Of course, that makes sense,” Shari Paluch nodded approvingly, all gracious now that the meeting was over. “Thanks as always for all your hard work.”

Well, why not? They’d had their party, and no one could do anything about it.

But I was determined to stop this from happening again.

And so we drafted a new letter to the parents, reminding them of the school’s rules and the commitment they’d made at the beginning of the year. And I spoke to the girls also, trying to impress upon them the values behind the rules.

“There are always ways to get around the rules.”

The girls shifted in their seats. Some giggled, other darted glances in Sheva’s direction.

“I know there are ways to get around them. Have friends over and make it not an ‘official’ party. Do it on Shabbos or in a tent or at a sleepover. The point is that when we created those rules — and when you and your parents signed and committed to keep them — we did it because having big bas mitzvah parties with friends creates a pressure and a standard and we, as a school, do not want that to happen. Instead, we want to keep our focus on what a bas mitzvah is really all about — and that’s why the school is giving you many, many opportunities to celebrate as a class throughout the year, and especially at the big event at the end of the year.”

“Girls,” I asked them. “What do you think becoming bas mitzvah is all about?”

It was quiet.

“It’s about becoming an adult. Becoming responsible for doing the mitzvahs. And of course it’s a big and important event — that’s why we want to celebrate. But we want to celebrate in the right way. In a way that is meaningful, and reflects what becoming responsible for keeping the mitzvos means.”

I explained to them the school’s policy again. “You’re welcome to celebrate with your families. But the parties with friends are not allowed, however they’re labeled or dressed up. And the school is not going to turn a blind eye to such parties from now on. I don’t want any girl to have to suffer any consequences for having a party. So please make sure that your bas mitzvah celebration is in line with what the school allows.”

I was scheduled to meet right after class with the next month’s set of bas mitzvah girls. They wanted to do a music video, they all loved to sing, and I knew they were very excited to prepare. I took my time getting my things together, knowing the girls would probably want a few minutes to hash things out before I would join their meeting.

“…doesn’t matter, I’m going to Israel anyway,” I heard one girl say.

“Yeah, me too. No fun to have a party without anyone there.”

“Well, my bas mitzvah is next week,” said Sara Bergman. And then she saw me coming over, and clamped her mouth shut.

I came into class one day the next week to see a group of girls — Sara Bergman and her friends, Tilly and Malka and Leah and Adina and the rest — sporting matching beaded bracelets. They giggled when I came in and quickly stopped their conversation.

Okay, so my mind jumped to bas mitzvah parties and bracelet beading sessions, but what was there to say, they were entitled to make bracelets on a Sunday afternoon, weren’t they?

But then I started hearing more. Some exclusive event. Cookie decorating. A mother calling to complain about pressures and her daughter crying all evening at having not been invited. She didn’t mention names, but it was becoming pretty clear.

Sara Bergman had celebrated her bas mitzvah with an exclusive party with her seven best friends, complete with cookie decorating and beaded bracelets.

Right after we had spoken to the class so strongly against it.

There were no excuses here. No “we were getting together anyway.” It was a party with entertainment and a program and theme and whatever. Totally flouting the rules. And doing exactly what we were trying so hard to avoid — making girls jealous and upset, raising the bar, changing the whole tone of the bas mitzvah year….

I didn’t want to say anything right away — I was too upset. But when I spoke to Mrs. Bloch, she agreed with me — this was not something we could ignore.

I called Mrs. Bergman to ask her about the party.

“Oh,” she said. “It was just something very small. And so many girls have had similar parties — or even more lavish…”

“What everyone else is doing isn’t really the point,” I said. “What matters is that the school has not been happy about the parties and just sent out letters last week explaining everything to the girls again. And then we hear about a party that went directly against what we spoke about.”

Mrs. Bergman didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry, but the school has to respond to this. I’ll be calling Sara in shortly. Unfortunately, she will have to miss a school event as a consequence for hosting a party that wasn’t aligned with the school rules.”

Sara’s reaction, at first, was just like her mother’s: a little defensive, not much to say except but everyone does and I thought it would be okay.

“Even after we spoke about it just last week? And I explained that parties with school friends are not allowed?”

She shrugged, playing with her beaded bracelet.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t allow you to join this month’s bas mitzvah event.”

This got a reaction. Her mouth opened in shock and horror and her eyes filled with tears. I knew why — this was her month, the music video and the program and the party and all. But she’d had her party — at home, against the rules. And we had to show the girls that we were serious about this.

We’d set the rules, stated that there would be consequences. And right after, she’d broken them.

What did she expect?

If I could tell Sara and her mother one thing it would be: You committed to keeping the rules — how can you complain about the consequences of breaking them?

Nina

WE were pretty much planning Sara’s bas mitzvah since she was born.

She’s an only girl — I have two older sons and two younger ones. This was our one and only bas mitzvah, and we were going to get it right.

It would be princess themed, of course — her name is Sara, after all. Not crowns and glitter projects, something more sophisticated. Beaded bracelets, jewel-themed décor…

We would plan it together randomly, playing with the ideas, just having fun. And as she got older, it started getting more serious. When my neighbor Shoshi made a bas mitzvah for her daughter, when Sara was in third grade, I mentioned that we were already planning ours, years in advance.

“You’re making a big party?” I asked her.

“No, just family. My sisters are all coming over with their kids. Atara wanted to invite friends, but school rules, what can you do?”

I frowned. This was my first girl in the system, and where I’d grown up, bas mitzvahs were a different style altogether. This was the first I was hearing about school rules dictating out-of-school events.

“The school doesn’t let classmates come to bas mitzvah parties,” Shoshi explained.

“They don’t?” I pictured the party of Sara’s dreams, silver and purple and bright, gorgeous jewel tones. “So who’s the party for?”

“Girls invite their cousins, or friends from other schools. If they have camp friends… or extended family… and some people get away with it, you know, invite a friend or two, keep it quiet.”

Well.

Sara has no girl cousins — my siblings all live far away, and my husband is an only child. Sara was too young for camp, and her only non-school friend was Atara, the neighbor, three years older than her.

We were going to have to be the ones who got away with it.

When Sara entered sixth grade, the school sent home a letter with The Bas Mitzvah Rules, for parents and student to sign. Even though we knew that the school had rules about the parties, seeing them in black and white was a real blow to our dreams of celebrating Sara’s bas mitzvah in a beautiful and special way.

“What does the school want, I should have a princess party with Yisrael and Pinny?” Sara complained.

“We’re going to figure something out,” I told her.

“What’s there to figure out? I don’t have cousins or camp friends. Who’s going to come to my party?”

“Your birthday is in a few months,” I said. “Let’s see what your friends do, let’s see how things go. You’re going to have a beautiful bas mitzvah party, don’t worry.”

And then I held my breath, waiting to see what would happen.

The first couple of girls in the class went to Israel for their bas mitzvah. So no party, fine.

Then Sara got a Shabbos invite to a friend, and came home late Motzaei Shabbos sporting a big grin and some cute party swag. “It was cool, Leah did a Shalosh Seudos party, and then after Havdalah, she had a dance lady come in, we did some cool dance thing, and her mother set up a whole acai bar… we made these smoothie bowls and then she gave out this stuff and we came home,” Sara told me.

“Oh? And the school rules…”

Sara shrugged. “It wasn’t like a party, it was Shalosh Seudos! And then just a cute little thing, you know…”

Oh, yes, just a cute little thing, with a dance party and personalized blankets and an acai bar, super chilled.

I rolled my eyes, but that set my mind at ease — so people were doing parties, they were getting around it; we could, too.

Sara’s BFF Tilly had her bas mitzvah just after Succos. She has a huge extended family, loads of cousins and aunts and uncles, but Sara and a couple of other friends were invited to join “as waitresses.”

“But we weren’t really waitresses, lol,” Sara said, bubbling over with excitement when she came home. “We just helped to set up. It was a whole fleishig thing, a big grill event with loads of salads and stuff. And Tilly’s sister made this amazing slideshow for her, with pictures from when she was a baby till now… and there were pictures and everything…”

Totally different style event, but I was getting the picture: People made their plans and invited the friends they wanted to invite, school rules or not.

Or they went to Israel.

“Should I do Israel? Maybe I should just do Israel,” Sara said, one afternoon.

Do Israel? I stifled a snort. Like we could afford that. Neither Chaim nor I could take off work for an Israel trip, and it would cost a fortune.

“I thought we planned a party all along,” I told Sara.

“We did. And I think I want a party, really,” she said. “I guess if everyone else keeps managing to invite friends, I can, too.”

I agreed with her. We were on a tight budget but I’d been planning this for years — my friend Shaindy, who ran a cookie decorating business, had offered to do a jeweled cookie decorating workshop; I’d ordered the décor on Temu a while back; I could make the food myself and put together a gorgeous party for Sara and a few friends, with budget pricing.

I had some niggling worry about the school rules — we weren’t the type to break rules — but then Sara was invited to Sheva Paluch’s ice skating party. Sorry, ice skating event — they very carefully avoided the word party. But when Sara came home, describing how the entire rink had been redecorated in white and peach and rose gold, with MAZEL TOV SHEVA banners that stretched across the entire rink; when she described the gifts and the dessert table and the blasting music and the dance troupe performance and how Sheva had been decked out in a gorgeous dress and some kind of updo… I wasn’t fooled.

This had been a Party with a capital P, for Sheva’s bas mitzvah. And if she could do that — and invite the whole class, no less — we could have a few friends over for Sara.

“We’ll keep it small,” I told her. We prepared cute invitations and Sara hand-delivered them to her friends at home. Keeping it out of school felt like a good idea.

And then the email came. The school was clamping down — it had come to their attention that there may have been misunderstandings about the rules, blah blah.

Misunderstanding, ha.

I didn’t want to make trouble, but we were a few days away from the big event, everything was prepared, and we weren’t doing anything worse than anyone else who’d made a party this year. And it was nothing compared to the Paluch event.

But Sara came home looking uneasy.

“Mrs. Pearl spoke to us about bas mitzvahs again. She was all strict about it, saying that no one’s allowed to break the rules or try to get around them, or they’ll get in trouble…”

Well, I couldn’t imagine any breaking of the rules more flagrant than a whole-class ice skating party. “Did anything happen to Sheva?” I asked.

“No… the principal called her in, but she said that her father was renting out the rink anyway for her and her friends, so they just called it in honor of her bas mitzvah.”

I shrugged. “Okay, so you’ll say you were anyway going to do cookie decorating.”

The party was exquisite.

The décor, if I may say so myself, came out gorgeous — sleek and stunning, with the scattered gemstones adding pops of color along the table, and the matching metallic balloons set in clusters tying the theme together. The table looked magnificent, the food — we went with milchigs — delicious, and the cookie decorating and beaded bracelet making both on point.

Sara and her friends had a great time, I took a ton of pictures, and everyone went home with their cookies and the bracelet.

We’d done it, pulled off a dreamy bas mitzvah bash, something small yet beautiful. Just what Sara and I had always wanted.

It was perfect.

Until.

First came the call from the teacher interrogating me about the party, as if a small at-home event with a few of Sara’s friends was a whole, heinous crime…

I tried explaining that we weren’t the only ones. That this was relatively minor in comparison.

“What everyone else is doing isn’t really the point,” Mrs. Pearl said. “What matters is that the school has not been happy about the parties and just sent out letters last week explaining everything to the girls again. And then we hear about a party that went directly against what we spoke about.”

I didn’t know what to say. I thought about Sheva Paluch’s party, renting out an ice skating rink, music and swag and who knows what else. And the school was up in arms about Sara’s princess party with jeweled cookies?

And then Mrs. Pearl started talking about consequences.

I was so dumbfounded, I literally didn’t know how to respond. Until Sara came home, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Sara! Honey, what’s wrong?”

She was sobbing so hard it took half an hour until she could explain what had happened. The teacher calling her in and grilling her about the party; how she hadn’t known what to say, how to explain herself. Because the party had technically broken the rules… just like everyone else’s… But why was Sara the only one getting in serious trouble because of it?

“And now… now she said… that I can’t come to this month’s class party,” Sara wailed, literally curling up in a ball on the couch. “And it’s my party! Me and the girls who turn 12 this month! And I worked so hard on the music video. I’m having a solo. And we were going to do such a fun party, and the centerpieces were all my idea and the song…”

“Wait, the event they are making you miss is your party?” I couldn’t believe it. “Maybe you misunderstood? I mean, this is a party for this month’s bas mitzvah girls! It’s your party! And you girls have already worked so hard on it… maybe she meant a different month?”

Sara shook her head mutely.

She didn’t eat supper that night and spent the evening in her room, ignoring the phone. She cried herself to sleep — I saw her, when I peeked into her room that night, fast asleep with her clothes on, tear tracks marking lines on her face.

I called Mrs. Pearl back as soon as I had a moment to myself.

“My Sara came home absolutely crushed,” I said. “I know we spoke earlier and you said the school wanted to give a consequence. But this? No warning, no nothing?”

Mrs. Pearl heaved a sigh. “I imagine it is very disappointing for her,” she said slowly. “But, what can I say, Mrs. Bergman? We spoke about the rules against having school friends at bas mitzvah parties just last week, and we sent the email out to parents too… it’s something we’ve talked about over and over. And if rules are broken, unfortunately, the school sometimes has to give a consequence.”

“Sometimes,” I said, bitterly. “Sometimes, right? Not when it’s the richest girl in the class, who, by the way, hosts a way more extravagant and spectacular event than our little cookie decorating party. Not when it’s everyone else who finds ways to bend or break the rules. But with Sara, you suddenly decide to punish her? And with such a harsh punishment? How is that fair?”

“Mrs. Bergman, whether or not other people do it… you and Sara signed to keep these rules. And yes, we saw that things were getting out of hand. Which is why I spoke to the girls, just a few days ago, and emphasized very strongly that there would be repercussions if girls continued to break the rules.”

So Sara would be the korban for everyone who had already gotten away with it. The warning message to everyone else.

“She’s broken,” I said. “She’s crying nonstop. And this is her bas mitzvah, her special time. How can you do this to her?”

If I could tell Mrs. Pearl one thing it would be: Dozens of girls have broken the rules this year — some with parties way more elaborate. Why is only my daughter slammed with such a harsh punishment?

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1052)